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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885718">dance with me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bardicaberration/pseuds/bardicaberration'>bardicaberration</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>winter prompt challenge [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Fluff, Jaskier | Dandelion Has ADHD, M/M, Slow Dancing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:47:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bardicaberration/pseuds/bardicaberration</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier huffed under his breath. He leaned to to the side, resting his head on the arm of their overstuffed couch, and blinked slowly; the flame of the candle flicked in and out of focus as he squinted in the dimly lit room. Beside him, Geralt tapped quietly on his keyboard, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, steadfastly ignoring Jaskier. </p>
<p>Jaskier sighed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>winter prompt challenge [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041406</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>dance with me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><a href="https://witcher-and-his-bard.tumblr.com/post/634710612632551424/winter-prompt-challenge-i-wanted-to-make-a">Winter prompt challenge</a> day 4: frosted windows.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Jaskier sighed. It was his third—or fourth, or fifth, who was keeping count, really?—sigh in as many minutes. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, sighing again, as Ella Fitzgerald warbled from the record player. A pine-scented candle burned on the table in front of him, wafting through the room, and he sighed one more time, utterly bored.</p>
<p class="p1">“Geraaaaaaalt.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Jaaaaaaskier.”</p>
<p class="p1">Jaskier huffed under his breath. He leaned to to the side, resting his head on the arm of their overstuffed couch, and blinked slowly; the flame of the candle flicked in and out of focus as he squinted in the dimly lit room. Beside him, Geralt tapped quietly on his keyboard, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, steadfastly ignoring Jaskier.</p>
<p class="p1">Jaskier sighed.</p>
<p class="p1">Geralt snapped his computer closed, placing it carefully on the table in front of him. Jaskier smiled at the scuffed sticker from the Rosemary and Thyme, their favorite dive bar. It had been closed for several weeks now, and Jaskier mourned it’s passing every single day. He had insisted on hosting an impromptu funeral the last night it was open, standing on the sidewalk as the last patrons shuffled out, bleary and drunk, and upending a can of cheap beer on the sidewalk in memoriam while Geralt and Priscilla stood solemnly behind him.</p>
<p class="p1">Jaskier sat up and turned to face Geralt. His brown reading glasses had joined the computer on the coffee table and Geralt frowned slightly as he rubbed his eyes. Jaskier peered at him from across the couch and Geralt stopped mid rub.</p>
<p class="p1">“What?” He asked, frown growing deeper.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m bored.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Jaskier, you’re always bored.”</p>
<p class="p1">“That is categorically untrue.”</p>
<p class="p1">“And you’re a categorical liar.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Also categorically untrue, my friend!” Jaskier stood and stretched, spine popping as he twisted his torso. “I simply require a high level of stimulation to maintain engaged interest in most things.”</p>
<p class="p1">Geralt snorted. “What do you want Jaskier?”</p>
<p class="p1">He gestured wildly in front of him, almost frustrated by the stillness, and flopped back onto the couch. The wind outside howled, another gust rattling the windows in their frames. The panes of glass were coated with wet snow; thick, fat, flakes stuck to the glass and slid slowly toward the sill. Jaskier opened and closed his mouth several times before he spoke. “It’s too quiet.”</p>
<p class="p1">Geralt cocked his head and surveyed Jaskier, sat on the edge of the sofa, hair mussed and eyes bright. It was a bad day, Geralt realized, and the days-long snowstorm hadn’t helped.</p>
<p class="p1">Jaskier’s leg bounced. It was involuntary and he hated it—hated the way his body constantly needed to move, to stretch and to crack, and the way his brain raced, thoughts circling around themselves and interspersed with crackling static. He ground his palm into the meat of his thigh, willing it to stop jiggling. The muscle fell still, and in exchange, Jaskier felt a bolt of panic well up in his throat, bubbling and radiating through his body like a bright flame. He breathed in and out a few times in an attempt to steady himself, but his muscle ached with a burning need to <em>move</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">“Jask.”</p>
<p class="p1">Geralt’s soft voice broke through the fog and Jaskier jumped. His leg began to bounce again, shaking the couch cushions under him.</p>
<p class="p1">“Sorry,” he whispered. “Sorry, I’m. It’s. I’m having a bad day.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I know,” said Geralt. “Come here.”</p>
<p class="p1">Geralt stood and extended his hand. Jaskier followed suit and Geralt led him into the middle of the room. With only an inch difference in height, it was easy for Jaskier to fix his eyes on Geralt’s. Geralt searched Jaskier’s face and, evidently finding what he was looking for, stepped into Jaskier’s space, wrapping him in a bear hug. Jaskier relaxed into the embrace and wrapped his own arms around Geralt’s torso. Gently, Geralt started moving, swaying them back and forth in a small circle. The record warbled in the background, skipping several times before righting itself and playing on.</p>
<p class="p1">“Your record player is shit, Geralt,” Jaskier said, face squished against Geralt’s neck.</p>
<p class="p1">“I know,” Geralt said. “We should go buy a new one tomorrow.”</p>
<p class="p1">They continued to revolve slowly on the spot and slowly—imperceptibly—the tension drained from Jaskier’s body. He breathed in the warmth of Geralt’s skin, the subtle scents of his expensive shampoo filling Jaskier’s senses.</p>
<p class="p1">The record came to an end and they stilled, Geralt still wrapped around Jaskier. Jaskier sighed again, content this time. Energy still thrummed through his body, but below the surface; the current was less strong, no longer pulling him along with need. A soft kiss pressed to his forehead, and Jaskier felt the rest of his frustration melting away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>also on <a href="https://bardicaberration.tumblr.com/">the tumbl</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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